The next morning, my mom showed up at my door without warning. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept, but she still had that polished appearance. She always carried hair sprayed into place, neat pearl earrings. She walked in without waiting for me to invite her.
“Hannah,” she started, setting her purse on the table. “Megan feels terrible about what she said.”
I laughed.
“She feels terrible, or you feel terrible about how it looked in front of the family?”
Her lips pressed into a line.
“That’s not fair. She’s under stress. She’s handling the estate.”
“She inherited a penthouse. Mom, she’s not exactly living under a bridge.”
My mother sighed and sat down.
“You know what I mean. She has responsibilities. That condo isn’t just for her. It’s an investment, something she can manage for the family’s future.”
There it was again, the word family being thrown around like it only applied to Megan.
